


Happy Birthday, not-Batman

by emmadilla



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge [27]
Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Birthday, Developing Relationship, F/M, Subtle Relationship, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 19:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17730965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmadilla/pseuds/emmadilla
Summary: Jason forgets his birthday, but his friends make sure it doesn't pass by without celebration.





	Happy Birthday, not-Batman

**Author's Note:**

> 30 Day OTP Challenge
> 
> Day 27: Birthdays

It was a day like any other.

 

He slept in, as he usually did, since he was up most of the night. The sleep he got was shitty anyway, so he started up the pot of coffee, doing the sniff test on some leftover pizza to see if it was still any good. He shrugged, his nose not detecting anything off, and he took a bite as he waited for that good ol’ caffeine source to brew. Dumping what little sugar he had into the cup, he grimaced as he took a sip. He didn’t quite have enough to take that bitter edge off. _Gotta run by the store later_ , he mentally noted. For now, though, he needed the caffeine, even at the expense of his taste buds, and so he gulped it in between bites of cold pizza. Not exactly the glamorous breakfast affair he was sure would be happening if he was still at Wayne Manor, but hey, sometimes being out on your own you made sacrifices.

 

Alfred always made sure to have a varied spread available 365 days of the year. He was always rotating seasonal fruits and berries in and out, had plenty of condiments available, eggs galore, toast, oatmeal, and - if you asked nicely - he’d whip up some pancakes for you. His were soft and fluffy and just so damn _perfect_ in the way that Jason had never found or been able to replicate since. If Alfred had a superpower, it was making the best damn pancakes in the world. It was the only explanation for how good they were. And, of course, he kept on deck several different syrups to top them off with. Jason always preferred the boysenberry.

 

It had been a while since he’d had the pleasure of Alfred’s pancakes, and in between, a lot of shit had happened. He lost some friends. Gained some, too. It seemed like that was about the only constant in his life, was the steady rotation of friends and allies.

 

He didn’t think about it too hard, though. Downing the rest of the second cup of coffee, he stuffed the pizza crust into his mouth and got ready for the day. He had some recon work to do, nothing that required the Red Hood, but perfect for Jason Todd. So he dressed casually for once, donning the least ripped pair of jeans he owned, a plain shirt, and a zip up hoodie, pulling on a beanie before he left his little bunker hideaway. Of course, he’d also tucked some tech gadgets in his pockets, ones that would make his work just that much easier, things to amplify sound and send it directly into the discreet ear piece he wore, to record what he heard so he could listen to it again, make sure he didn’t miss anything. And he also included a couple of bugs, just in case he got close enough to his target to plant them. He honestly wasn’t sure if he would or not, but hey, if Batman had taught him one thing, it was to be prepared, and he’d much rather have them and not need them than need them and not have them. Shaking his head, he contemplated just how far Bruce’s lessons had been drilled into his brain and if he was really comfortable with that. But, all that training served him well in the end, so he supposed it was worth it to have the old man constantly in the back of his head.

 

Recon work, in general, was boring. Necessary, but boring. He didn’t really like to do this kind of stuff, preferring action over just sitting around. But, he supposed, in a roundabout way, it was nice. Instead of dodging bullets and blows, he was just lounging, snacking on a street vender’s hot dog as he surreptitiously followed his target, a high level associate in Roman Sionis’ organisation that Roman suspected of being a turn coat for Rupert Thorn. The guy potentially had access to information for both mobsters, making him a valuable asset for Jason, should this actually pan out. So he watched and he waited, recording conversations as he went. He changed up his look a couple of times, just so the guy wouldn’t keep seeing him the same way throughout the day. Making him suspicious would just scare him off. Fortunately, despite his preference for direct action and violence, Jason still excelled in recon work. At the end of the day, though, he somehow felt more tired and exhausted than if he’d just been through a damn gauntlet.

 

He was more than ready to call it a day when he got a text, his phone vibrating to alert him. Pulling it out of his pants pockets, swiped open the screen and pulled up the message.

 

It was from Artemis.

 

_Need backup._ Just a simple message, along with an attached address.

 

Pulling up the keyboard, he responded, _Let me grab my gear. I’ll be there_.

 

The reply came through rather quickly. _No time. Need you now._

 

Gritting his teeth, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He wasn’t sure what Artemis was up to or what she’d gotten into, but it must be pretty damn important and urgent if he couldn’t even swing by his bunker to pick up his gear. Fortunately, he was always packing at least a couple of weapons, even while going casual while doing recon work, so at least he wasn’t going in with just his fists.

 

The address he was given was that of an old studio, not abandoned but rarely used. Sets littered the interior of the large building, and Jason pulled out his gun as he silently stalked around. It all seemed quiet, but he wasn’t fooled by that. Too often had a quiet atmosphere devolved quickly into violence. The deeper he got into the place, however, he realised he could hear something … but it wasn’t quite what he was expecting. He stayed silent, getting nearer to the source, and the closer he got the more sure he was that someone was … _cooking_. Yep, there was a definite sizzle, and a sweet aroma floated through the air, almost like …

 

Dropping the gun, he walked around the corner, a curious sight meeting him. There, in a functional kitchen set, was Alfred. Making pancakes. And, of course, sitting at the table was Artemis and Bizarro. “What is this?” he asked out loud, puzzled at the whole thing. Bizarro’s mouth was full, and so Artemis stood and _smiled_ for once, circling the table to encase him in a very _firm_ hug. “Uh, okay, you’re kinda freaking me out, here. What’s going on?”

 

Artemis playfully punched his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you have forgotten? What good does that brain do you if you don’t use it?”

 

Jason was about to shoot back a witty comeback when Alfred spoke up. “It’s your birthday, Master Jason. Your friends were intent on doing something for you, and I assured them that you would appreciate this far more than an extravagant party.”

 

He couldn’t lie, his mouth was watering, and his whole body relaxed as he sat at the table, Alfred’s pancakes and boysenberry syrup waiting for him. “You always knew me better than anyone, Alfred,” he said as he coated the sweet cakes in syrup. “Thanks, guys.”

 

Bizarro snorted. “Everyone forget. Me remember.”

 

He could practically feel Artemis fuming over being called out, but as he got that first bite in his mouth, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Seeing as even he had forgotten what day it was, he didn’t care. The fact that they’d apparently hustled to set this up for him, a peaceful dinner with his favourite food in the whole world, that was worth more than any fancy Wayne gala or high end club party. No, he had enough going on in his life. The ability to just sit down and share a great meal with friends was all the birthday gift he ever wanted. And if Artemis just so happened to lean over and give him a boysenberry-flavoured kiss, well … that was just icing on the cake.

 

“Happy Birthday, not-Batman.”

 

He smirked. “Thanks, not-Wonder Woman.”

 

The punch was worth it.


End file.
